


The Bizarre Haunting of Harry Potter

by xlogophile



Series: Ficlets [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Crack-ish, Gen, Insults
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 10:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22494538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xlogophile/pseuds/xlogophile
Summary: Harry was doing pretty okay, post-war. He was healing and processing trauma. Leading a pretty normal life, for the first time. Until he walked into his kitchen one morning to the sight of Lord Voldemort sitting at his breakfast bar and scrutinizing the mess around him.And that wasn't even the weirdest thing.
Series: Ficlets [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/278694
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	The Bizarre Haunting of Harry Potter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CheyanneChika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheyanneChika/gifts).



> Happy Winter Season/New Year!  
> Tis me, your Secret New Year Gifter. I have never written anything remotely crack-y before so this was an interesting experience, but I hope you enjoy it. (There is still a physical package on its way to you, but would it really be one of our gift exchanges if it wasn't at least a little bit late?)
> 
> Inspired by [this Carlin Brothers video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tnycmFU9FCg) where Ben basically describes how Voldemort would be a rude houseguest if he could come back as a ghost.

Harry was, surprisingly, almost kind of sort of okay, a few months after the war. He was coping. Appreciating the people he still had left around him, their love and the happiness they brought to his life. 

Sure, he still missed all the people he’d lost, and he absolutely still woke up panting from nightmares on a semi-regular basis. He still sometimes had split seconds when he could swear he saw Voldemort’s face staring at him from the mirror, or across a crowded street. But his friends helped. _Therapy_ helped. He was slowly, _slowly_ , processing everything that happened and learning to live a normal life.

Which is why it came as a shock when one Saturday morning he walked into his kitchen, and stopped mid-yawn to stare at the somewhat translucent form of Voldemort, sitting at his breakfast bar and looking around his kitchen. He was a second from letting out an ungodly scream when Voldemort ( _LORD MOTHEFUCKING VOLDEMORT_ ) turned to face him with disdain on his face. 

“Your kitchen is absolutely disgusting Potter, is this how _the Saviour_ lives his life? In filth?”

Harry just stared for a couple of seconds, blinking slowly.

“What. The Actual. Fuck.”   
Voldemort tutted. “Is this any way for a _Hero_ to speak? Swearing? What would the parents think?” He raised his eyebrows mockingly and swiveled back to continue examining Harry’s flat. 

In a daze, Harry pulled out his wand and sent a somewhat panicked Patronus to Hermione, before walking up to the kettle and flicking it on, murmuring “I need coffee. So much coffee. And maybe alcohol?” under his breath. He grabbed the mug once he made his drink and almost cradled it against his chest, never letting his eyes wander away from his _visitor_ , in case something happened. 

Except there was no havoc or destruction or even any more snide comments. Riddle (Harry refused to keep calling him by the ridiculous name in his head) was just looking around, sneering at the small collection of dirty dishes gathered in the sink, the old food stains covering the hob that Harry had been meaning to clean up for a couple of weeks and pulling an absolutely disgusted face when he noticed the plastic container full of mold sitting sadly in the corner of the counter. 

_What has my life come to_ , thought Harry, _that a psycho dark wizard came back from the dead to judge my housekeeping skills? And I’m not even that surprised about it._

* * *

“I’m telling you, Mione, he’s just been sitting there, not doing anything. The only time he said something was to judge me for having a messy kitchen and swearing,” Harry whisper-shouted frantically, glancing back to Riddle, who looked up from examining a sticky stain on the table to give Harry a little jaunty wave. 

“And he’s only appeared this morning? Are you sure he wasn’t there before and you just neglected to tell me about it?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “ You have to admit that you’ve had a terrible habit in the past of not telling anyone about various things.”

“I wouldn’t hide something so big and weird, why would you—” Hermione gave him a look. “Okay, fine, I would have, but I swear I didn’t on this particular occasion. I literally just walked downstairs to have breakfast and he was _just there_.” 

“Okay, I believe you. Have you tried to interact with him in any way?” Hermione asked. “Him? It? Nevermind. Is he _actually, physically there_? Is he like a ghost? Something else entirely?” Harry just looked at her perplexed.

“Are you asking me if I’ve tried to _touch_ him? I’d rather not come any closer to this— this _thing._ ” 

“You’ve lived in a castle full of ghosts for many years, and yet you can’t stand next to what is most likely a ghost because it’s Voldemort? You killed him. Twice.”

“Okay, first of all, killing him didn’t require touching him in any way, shape or form. And second of all, it’s not like I was cozying up to Moaning Myrtle while I was at Hogwarts.”

“Oh you’re such a baby,” She said, already on her way into the kitchen with her wand out, ready to examine her best friend’s newest problem.

“This is not going to end well for me,” Harry mused silently.

* * *

“You missed a spot, over there,” Voldie, as Harry has started calling him in his head, said and pointed at a stubborn stain that’s been gracing his kitchen table for months. 

“I didn’t,” he replied and moved on to cleaning the counters.

“Yes you did, it’s right here.”

“It’s a stain that will probably be there forever. I don’t even notice it anymore.”

* * *

“How did you get through so many years at Hogwarts without learning how to write properly Potter?”  
“I don’t see your point,” he didn’t even look up from his most recent work assignment.

“It looks like it’s written by a muggle child. It’s horrible.”

“I don’t see how my handwriting is any of your business.”

* * *

“Whatcha doin’ today Harry? Watcha doin’? Are you cooking? Looks like it smells bad. Of course, I wouldn’t know, I’m a ghost. Also, I don’t have a nose.”

* * *

“Are those raisins in those cookies? No.Harry! No!”

* * *

“Not very impressive for the savior of the wizarding world…”

“GET OUT!”

* * *

“Mione, please tell me you’ve figured out something to get rid of him. I’m this close to just smothering myself with a pillow just so I don’t have to listen to him anymore.”

“Don’t tell me it’s that bad, he can’t even touch you.”

“He doesn’t need to, to cause lasting pain. The emotional kind.”

“I thought you didn’t mind the comments about your housekeeping skills or cooking?”

“I do mind them, I just got used to ignoring him. But it’s a bit difficult to ignore him when you think you’ve got privacy and then he just pops his head in through the wall.”

“Isn’t that what this situation has been since the beginning though?” Hermione wondered.

“Well, it crossed a line when he decided to watch me wank and make comments!” Harry stood up and dragged a hand through his hair in frustration, not noticing Hermione’s amusement until she burst out laughing. “You don’t have to laugh, it’s not funny!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she gasped out between giggles. “But you have to admit that the mental image of Lord Voldemort critiquing your masturbation technique is rather ridiculous.”

“Do you know how traumatizing that was? I don’t think I’ll be able to even think about it without getting chills. I can barely look at him as is!”

“Don’t worry, I’m working on it. I found some very interesting books that might be helpful when dealing with not-quite-ghosts. It’s not going to be much longer.” She patted Harry’s shoulder and pulled him into a short hug. “I’ve got to get going now, but I believe in you. You can do it.” She gave him a smile and left through the fireplace.

* * *

Harry was in the process of enjoying a nice relaxing bath to relieve all the stress that’s been building up in him for the last couple of weeks when he felt something barely brush by his calf. At first, he just brushed it off, thinking that he’s imaged it, or that it’s just the stream from the tap sliding off his foot and causing a light current under the surface of the water. But then it happened again. And again. And finally, he just opened his eyes to see _what the fuck_ was happening. 

He would have been embarrassed by the squeak he let out if he wasn’t too preoccupied with scambling out of the bathtub and wrapping himself in a towel, accompanied by Voldie’s cackling.

* * *

“Okay, so, I think I finally found a possible solution that actually has a chance of working.”

“Thank you so much!” Harry enveloped Hermione in a tight hug, partly cutting off her air supply.

“You don’t even know if it will actually work,” she gasped out and patted him awkwardly on the back.

“I believe in you. If you say that it’s going to work, then it’s going to work.”

“Oh– well– Thank you.”

“So, what do I have to do?”

“What _exactly_ you’ll do depends mostly on your creativity. But the general idea is, he’s here just to annoy you and he’s the one that has to decide to leave. Most cases similar to this I found were usually dead grouchy aunts or mothers-in-law, and the living relative usually just got irritated after some time and started insulting and swearing at them. That seemed to do the trick, so I assume that you just have to offend and irritate him enough that he storms off in a huff and doesn’t come back.”

“That seems weirdly too simple.”

“Not necessarily. It really depends on his patience and how much insulting he’s willing to take before he decides to leave.” Harry took a moment to think.

“Does it have to be just me? Because I feel like I could put out a flyer saying ‘Want to insult Voldemort? Come here!’ and get thousands of people on my doorstep.”

“I think it should be fine if other people also take part? I mean, the purpose is to irritate him in general, I don’t think he specifically has to be mad at you. I don’t think it would be a good idea to put an ad out though. You might get way more than a couple of thousands of people. Maybe start with some word of mouth? That way the number will be more manageable and you can always scale up if it doesn’t work.”

“Should I make a party out of it? Have some beer, snacks, maybe a banner?” Harry joked.

“The banner might be going a bit too far but setting a time and having more people over at the same time might end up being fun.”

“Never thought I’d be planning a ‘Let’s insult Lord Voldemort to death’ get-together…”

* * *

Harry was almost surprised by the number of people that showed up at his place on one fine Saturday afternoon to insult the ghost of Lord Voldemort. Almost.

What did surprise him was the appearance of a group of ex-Slytherins that handed him a bottle of expensive alcohol and proceeded to lob whole strings of creative expletives that impressed everyone else in the room.

Seamus threw in his two cents with some bizarre Irish insults that had some people scratching their heads, notably ending a series with “Look at that face like a smacked arse,” when Voldemort’s face started getting flushed with irritation. 

There were, of course, some ‘wankers’ and ‘tossers’ thrown in, but the ones that seemed to garner the most applause from the spectators were more specific ones like ‘snake-fucker’ or ‘sniffles’ (or, honestly, any mention of the fact that he looks like he run into a glass wall and smashed his nose in).

The insults only seemed to become more creative (and then, progressively, make less sense) the more alcohol was consumed by everyone involved until people were dissolving into laughter every couple of seconds. Voldemort hissing out more and more desperate retorts just made it even funnier.

At some point, insulting him directly turned into joking among each other and completely ignoring him. No one even noticed that the ghost disappeared until Draco Malfoy turned to throw an especially ridiculous insult in his face only to realize that there was no one to insult anymore. He scrunched his eyebrows and then pouted, whining out a “This one was going to be so good though,” and plopping back down on the sofa that he’s been occupying for the last couple of hours.

“There, there, I believe you,” Harry said, patting him on the head, quite a couple of drinks in himself.

“You do?”

“Of course. You’ve contour– countree– _contributed_ a lot of good insults tonight, you’ll be the first person I think of if I’m ever in a situation like that again.” He was nodding solemnly the whole time, his glasses sliding down his nose millimeter by millimeter.

Ron leaned over to Hermione. “Is that what people mean when they say ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend?’” he whispered in her ear. 

“I don’t think that’s what anyone means with _anything_. This situation is so bizarre and unbelievable, even Skeeter wouldn’t dare write something like that.”

“I guess. Cheers to new friends though.” He clinked their beer bottles together and joined Dean Thomas and Theodore Nott in their discussion about the upcoming Quidditch season predictions.

 _So bizarre_ , Hermione thought and shook her head with a smile, before joining a different group, planning to enjoy the night of fun and integration to the fullest.


End file.
